


A Broken Man

by mansikka



Series: Learning To Love You Right [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Childhood Memories, Love, M/M, Michael Guerin Deserves Nice Things, POV Alex Manes, Sad Michael, worried Alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Alex wakes to a Roswell from which Michael is gone. There is no way he can't follow. But when he finds him, Michael is given a gift that can change his entire life. Can Alex love him enough not to convince him to come back?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Here's the first in a three part series that is off-roading when it comes to canon. In which, Max is still alive, Rosa isn't back, a certain ending to the season has been reinterpreted, and all things are... slightly (very) whimsical. Because this is my story and if I want people to be happy (...eventually) then they will be happy, however I have to make that happen!
> 
> Thank you to Saadie for all kinds of things in this fic! The murder, the mayhem, and the... there may be other things beginning with M? I don't know. (There is no actual murder though. Just so you know.)
> 
> Title(s) have been shamelessly borrowed from the beautiful song Tribulation by Matt Maeson.

Alex startles awake, his fists bunching in the throw that's normally over the back of his couch, disoriented for not realizing he'd fallen asleep. The light that he'd thought was the flickering dance of a fire as he sat waiting outside Michael's Airstream is instead the sun streaming in through a window in his cabin. It's early morning. He should have waited longer. Though how much longer did Michael expect him to wait?

Those eyes, forever watching, no matter if they are in the same room or a thousand miles apart, they are taunting him now. Sad, because he's hurt him, teasing, because it's easy, taunting, because haven't they always known how best to strike? Though they are also filled with love, so much love Alex has never felt deserving of, when all of Michael's walls have been stripped away, and the only thing remaining for Alex to see is _him_.

It's all too late now. With Michael's mom, and Noah, and his own _father's_ role in the destruction of the only family Michael has ever known, asking for one last chance to start over Alex sees now is selfish. No wonder Michael stayed away. No wonder Michael didn't want to come home. He knew _he'd_ be waiting. And what is Alex now to Michael but a painful, physical reminder of all that he's had taken from him? It isn't fair, and it isn't what Alex wants. But maybe now is the time to do the most loving thing he can, and finally let Michael go.

Alex throws a pillow over his face, hoping to block out the light that is keeping him awake. He doesn't want to be awake, not really, not to a world that he'll have to face without Michael in it. He doesn't want to _be_ without Michael. Alex is sure he'll be haunted by dreams of him even if he _does_ sleep. But maybe that is for the best, that the only Michael he can think of is the one in his head. One that he can't let down, and hurt, and ask so much of, over and over again.

Though it's not the brightness of that light streaming in that's rousing him from his sleep. Alex's mind is slow with hours spent staring at that campfire, and then hours more staring at the cabin ceiling. It takes hearing his name muffled through the wood of the front door and furious pounding that suggests whoever it is has been knocking for a while.

Alex yanks the throw from his lap and turns, carefully putting on his prosthetic and standing on shaky limbs. That knock is not Michael's, nor is it Kyle's. It's not Maria or Liz because they both know where the spare key is and would have let themselves in if they were that desperate to see him. Alex stumbles forward several steps before his brain catches up to the sound of Max's voice, confusion bringing him to a stop before that pounding starts up again.

_"Alex. Open the damn door."_

Alec yanks the door open, with a goading, _"deputy"_ that he thinks Michael would be proud of, then pushes the thought of Michael away. He has no right to keep him here, not even in thought.

"Is he here?"

Max goes to barge right in without invitation. Alex takes a firm step in his face and blocks his path so that he can't.

"What do you _want_?"

"I said. Is _Michael_ here?" Max repeats. His voice tense, and furious, and even laced with a little fear.

"He's not in his Airstream, and he's nowhere in town. Not in any of his usual places, anyway."

Alex's pulse quickens for belatedly seeing a worried-looking Isobel out on his porch, clutching at her phone as she looks back at him.

"Michael?" he says, stepping away from the door and making his way back inside. His phone is on the coffee table; Alex hears Max and Isobel following him in but doesn't turn to look.

"Why else would we be here?" Max demands. "You think we'd come here for a social call or something?"

"Max, _stop_."

Alex rolls his eyes at both Max's words and Isobel's attempts to silence him, snatching up his phone. His stomach gives a nervous jolt for a message waiting there for him from Maria. He reads the text over three times but still can't quite connect the words.

... _needed space… left town… said to tell you he's sorry but to leave him alone…_

"Alex," Isobel says, her voice raising to get his attention, "just tell us you've heard from him. Tell us _something_. Tell us you know where he is."

Alex's heart is pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Isobel's voice muffled as she keeps talking.

" _Alex_ ," he hears, Max's frustration beginning to boil over, Alex looking down to see him grabbing his arm but not feeling a thing. "Michael's—"

"Gone," Alex finishes for him.

Michael's gone. He's left without saying goodbye, without Alex even knowing he intended to go. All those words he'd rehearsed now seem as empty to Alex as they probably would have sounded to Michael had he said them face to face after all that has happened—after all that Alex has _done_. But he can't say them now, because Michael has _left_ him. Michael has finally grown tired of his excuses and never knowing when Alex will pull him close or send him away. Alex stands there listening to Max yelling without hearing a single word, the hope he'd created and clung on to just yesterday fading until he can't feel a thing.

* * *

Maria looks _guilty_. She pours Alex a drink without breaking eye contact, and Alex thinks she's asking for his forgiveness. She hasn't even done anything wrong.

"Alex, he was hurting. Badly," she says, hesitating before she reaches out to cover his hand against the bar.

It takes Alex a minute, but when his gut settles just enough from churning in turmoil, he moves just enough to trap Maria's thumb beneath his own. "He has a lot to be angry about."

"He does."

Earlier, Alex had listened to Max's _lecture_ and Isobel's softer words for all of a few minutes, before demanding that they both get out of his cabin and leave him alone. He'd driven the familiar route to Michael's Airstream finding it sat there untouched, unoccupied. He'd sat, and waited, and even stuck his head inside to be sure Michael wasn't hiding away from him in there before driving away, and in circles, until enough time had passed for the Wild Pony to be open. And here he is now, hanging on Maria's every word; even if those are the same words that will shatter him.

"I'm… _pleased_ , that he had someone to go to, before leaving," Alex adds, not even really sure what he's saying.

"Alex—"

"I don't need details," he says, already sure he's lost too many nights of thinking about Michael and one of his best friends. If Maria makes him _happy_ , then this thing about letting Michael go should be easier. All Alex thinks he's ever wanted is to see Michael smile. And if someone else is the one to put that smile on his face, well. He'll just have to keep bearing it until it doesn't break him so much.

"It was a kiss," Maria blurts out. Alex's stomach turns to ice.

"Maria—"

"No. Please," she says, squeezing his hand, "hear me out."

Alex doesn't trust his voice not to crack so only nods in answer. Maria clears her throat, and takes a sip of the beer she's just poured him before she can speak.

"He was angry, and hurting, and wanted to forget everything. I just happened to be the person he thought he wanted to forget with."

Sympathy seeps in to coil around the anger raging in Alex, anger that has no place being taken out on anyone. He knows as good as anyone that _feelings_ can't be helped. But he can't say anything, not yet, not until he has his words under control.

"It didn't mean anything," she says. "And it lasted seconds. And it was Michael who stopped it, saying he couldn't do it. Couldn't do it to _you_. Even though you and him are… messy."

 _Messy_ doesn't come anywhere close. But Alex will take _messy_ over any of the other harsh words he's hurling at himself.

"Okay."

Maria _knows_ his _okay_ means he's anything but. She squeezes his hand again, determined to get his attention.

"He _loves_ you. He just… everything's too much."

"He told you everything?" Alex asks. If there is now another person in on this _secret_ Michael, Isobel, and Max have been keeping for decades, maybe Michael feels freer for having one less person to have to lie to. Bu Alex knows from the downcast expression on Maria's face that Michael's barely told her anything. That _intuition_ that runs in her family has told Maria all that she knows.

"He told me he loves you," she says, squeezing his hand, "isn't that enough?"

"He said that?" Alex won't let himself believe it. He's barely said the words out loud to _him_.

"He said that," Maria agrees, "right here, in this very bar, just about right where you're standing right now."

Alex nods, back to being muted by his own emotions and stupidity. He caused all of this in a way, even if he wasn't responsible for much of it at all. If he'd stayed all those years ago. If he'd stopped walking away when things got difficult. If—

"I think he just needs some space. From all of this," Maria says, finally withdrawing her hand. Alex's own cools quickly as she does. He makes a fist with it and thumps it against his thigh.

"My timing is the worst."

"Well," Maria says, smiling even if it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Is the timing ever good for any of us?"

"I guess not."

"I think he wanted me to tell you he was going," Maria adds, pouring herself a drink that she knocks back so quickly, Alex is sure she doesn't taste a drop.

"You said—"

"I _inferred_ ," she corrects, with another guilty half-smile. "He said he was going, that he wanted to be left alone. I think he wanted you to know he was going. I know he did. I felt it."

"So how long does he expect me not to follow him for? Days? Hours?"

Maria is surprised; it takes a lot to put that look on her face. She shakes her head, an answer forming, but Alex doesn't wait to hear her out.

"I've walked away, and let _him_ walk away too many times already. I'm going after him. Now, if I have to. But I'll wait too, if you really think he needs a little time."

Who was he kidding, telling himself he could ever let go of Michael? Who was he fooling, thinking he could go on without Michael in his world? He wouldn't last. He never has done, never has been able to stay away, or keep Michael from his thoughts.

This morning, when in a daze and adjusting to a reality without Michael in it, Alex had packed Michael up a bag of clothes from his Airstream and thrown it in his car. Perhaps he'd known then, despite the maudlin cycling of his anguish that kept him company until he'd arrived here at the bar, that he'd be going after Michael. Wherever he was headed. Wherever it is that he's ended up.

"Do you know where?" Maria asks, a mixture of caution and pride both clouding and lighting up her face, nodding for Alex to have his drink.

"No," Alex admits, knowing he has a long journey ahead of him, and enough time to think about where Michael might be. "But I'm going."

"Right now?"

"Right now," Alex agrees, draining his beer in a few quick gulps. He'll go back to the cabin, pack up some things of his own, then call the base. Take some of that leave he's been long-owed. Alex has never really had a reason to take it before.

He taps the bar as he stands, giving Maria a half-wave as he turns away.

"He's worth it," she calls, making Alex pause before he gets too far.

"He is," Alex agrees, smiling as he looks over his shoulder.

"Go get him."

Alex nods, waving once again, then makes his way outside.

* * *

Desert. Everywhere is dirt and dust. It isn't a surprise to Alec, really, how desolate the roads are in and around Roswell. But in this mood, when the only thing he can think of is getting to Michael, all Alex can notice around him is how _empty_ everything is. Or at least how empty everything feels in Michael's absence.

Alex remembers the same feeling from when he left Roswell for the first time to go overseas. Freshly trained, freshly heartbroken, and determined that he would never think of Michael Guerin again. Not because Michael had done him wrong, but because he was leaving him, too cowardly to even give him a proper goodbye.

A very different desert landscape had awaited him, comforting in a way for a reminder of home. Alex remembers lying awake so many nights just thinking about Michael, imagining the hurt in his eyes for him going. He read it in his words when they first started corresponding after a couple of months, and the same expression was waiting for Alex the first time he came home. And he'd tried to stay away, to come back to Roswell only because it was the only place he knew. Michael was still a pull, a draw that called him closer, the one thing Alex anchored to even when telling himself he couldn't.

There is a sting in his throat, and his eyes. Alex doesn't even kid himself that it's sand. It's Michael, forever Michael who makes him shatter to pieces at the same time as keeping him whole. Though it's different this time, because Michael is the one that's left properly, and it's Alex driving through a desert trying to work out where he might go.

When they were kids, laid out in the back of Michael's truck when there was nowhere else for them to go, Michael had told Alex of an idle plan to go to Wheeler Peak. He'd said it was the highest peak closest to home, at some 13,000 feet high. Michael had said it would be the closest to being up in the actual sky, maybe tall enough to reach out and touch the clouds.

All these years later, it makes sense. Michael's truth, his origin in the stars and his need for a connection to them that Alex only learned of recently. It hasn't changed the way Alex feels about him, only put pieces together that over the years have never seemed to fit. That peak might not have the same whimsical draw it might once have done for Michael, but for Alex it seems like one of the best places to try looking first. So that is where he heads, with memories of every moment he's ever shared with Michael for company.

Is he going to climb it? Alex looks up wondering if there is an easier footpath to follow, confident with his prosthetic on steady ground but not so much on a hill. Instead Alex drives around in search of Michael's truck figuring if he's here, he would have had to park up somewhere. After hours on the road, and another of searching, Michael is nowhere to be found.

So what does he do now?

It's almost six. Alex realizes he's not eaten anything since he forced down half a bowl of cereal this morning before heading out. He's hungry now he's acknowledged it, and there is a squeeze in his temples that can only be a tension headache for letting himself get dehydrated. He drives to the first motel he comes across with a diner attached and books a room for the night. It isn't as though he has anything to go home to.

After a burger that he's only sure tastes as good as it does for how hungry he is, Alex drags his and Michael's bag from his car and lets himself into his room. It's clean at least, faded red carpet with green furnishings and comforter, and a queen size bed. He drops down on the end of it, not sure what to do with himself. Alex tries Michael's number, debating sending a message when it goes to voicemail. Though he doesn't, figuring if Michael knows he is on his trail he might disappear altogether. Not that he already hasn't. Again Alex is torn between determination Michael wants to be found and a whispering defeat that he isn't wanted, that it's all too late now.

It's in the shower that Alex admits to himself his first pursuit of Michael was a foolish one. He tugs on his hair in frustration for choosing Wheeler's Peak as his first place to check. Maybe he's been kidding himself, that Michael would go someplace that only _he_ would think to look for him. If he's put any thought into it, Michael's probably gone just about the last place he'd ever expect to see him again.

With his phone on charge and his laptop connected to the awful motel Wifi, Alex pulls up a map and tells himself to really think. Where is it that Michael would find the most solitude away from all that has happened? Anywhere away from Roswell, and a military base, and it might just fit the bill. Would he seek out somewhere else in the desert, for at least an echo of home as he cast his gaze upwards? Or would Michael find the first place he could that made him stop thinking of home?

Alex falls asleep half-propped up in bed with the laptop slipping to his side, dreaming of Michael, pleading with himself for an idea of where he might go.

* * *

Alex wakes from a fitful sleep, snatching his phone from his nightstand as his heart pounds. He pretends he isn't disappointed to find no messages waiting for him from anyone, making himself lie back down again. But he can't sleep, can't keep still for the need he has to get to Michael. After a hastily eaten breakfast and buying snacks and drinks from a vending machine, Alex is on the road again.

There is a place Michael told him about where Max and Isobel were taken as kids, some sort of resort on the edge of Roswell that he always said he'd wanted to go. Though as Alex starts contemplating the road signs thinking to change the route he's taking, he is hit with a wave of despair for not knowing where Michael could be, and anger at himself for allowing this to happen.

He's been back in Roswell for months now. More than enough time for him to be open and honest with Michael like he never really has been in the past. All the things he told Michael about hating himself for leaving, and seeing his own father in his reflection at times were true. But his love for Michael was the bigger thing, the more important information he should have shared with him long before now.

He _does_ love Michael. He never stopped. Maybe their start was rocky, and too hopeful, and the kind of first love people always talk about from when they were kids. But he and Michael had that, could have had so much more, if only things had been different. If only Alex had been brave. And because he wasn't, ten years have passed between them filled with snatched moments of anger interspersed with moments of hurt. And hope. And love. and lust. And belonging and separation and so many things that never needed to be as difficult as they were, and yet are, and are now in danger of always being, if he doesn't get to Michael soon.

If Michael even wants to listen. If Michael doesn't push him away, for good this time. Maybe he already has, already decided he'd had enough of waiting. Alex slams his palm against the steering wheel for talking himself in circles, pulling over to the side of the road when he doesn't trust himself to keep driving.

Alex hunches over the steering will in sheer grief, unable to see, or feel, or do anything but cry. He might have lost him for good this time, and Alex knows he can only blame himself. He's been selfish, expecting Michael to still be there, to never move on, to never do something for himself. There are so many things that Michael could be, or have. Alex loathes himself for being part of the reasons Michael has probably held himself back.

He never, ever let Michael go, not really, always keeping him at least at arm's length when things got too complicated in his own mind. Alex doesn't think he really ever realized how cruel he was being, but he gets it now, replays every wall he watched Michael rebuild every time he decided he needed space. Even when he was overseas he kept Michael tethered to him. The occasional call or letter when he was too desperate to be without him. The constant dreaming of Michael so he never had to be alone.

Fury for his own selfishness gets Alex on the road again, determined once more to seek Michael out. He replays every conversation he remembers having with Michael in fine detail, a habit he developed so he could have Michael keep him company even when they were apart. Alex remembers snatched words and kisses by firesides, shared beers in the backs of trucks, a hooked ankle beneath the table of a bar somewhere, and thousands of other memories of them being alone behind closed doors.

He's been ashamed of Michael. Realizing the truth of it makes Alex ashamed of himself. Michael is a good person, a kind soul, someone who goes out of his way to help everyone around him. Even those who sneer in his face, or just out of earshot the moment they've gotten what they want from him. Michael is better than any of those people, he's better than _him_ , far more caring and compassionate and good than Alex ever will be, or thinks he deserves. Alex aches for the life Michael should have had; in better foster care; being adopted; even just treated better by everyone. Especially by him.

If Michael will let him, Alex now intends to make that better life a reality for him. He doesn't know how, doesn't know what Michael needs or wants, doesn't even truly know what he needs and wants for himself. But he might know, he might figure things out, just as soon as he's talked to Michael. Just as soon as he knows once and for all where they are going.

When it hits him, when Alex thinks he knows for definite where Michael is, he almost collides with another car for how quickly he comes to a stop. Alex waves away the obscenities spat in his direction flipping the other driver off. He doesn't care. Nothing is going to stop him from getting to Michael.

One morning not so long ago, with sunlight streaming in through the Airstream's windows and the two of them curled together in bed, Michael had told him a memory of his childhood. A sweet one. The kind of thing Alex wished had been a regular feature in Michael's life.

One of Michael's foster homes had been in Carlsbad, in New Mexico. The house had been a few minutes from a lake, which was where Michael had learned to swim. He'd only been there for a few months when he was around eight years old, but Michael had loved his foster parents as much as his already broken heart would let him. Alex can still hear the softness of Michael's whisper as he told his story, see the sweetness of his smile as he recalled their faces.

After Alex had first left him, Michael made his way back to Carlsbad to see the family, to watch them from a distance and make sure his former foster parents were doing okay. He'd slept in his truck just yards from the house not sure he'd be welcomed, only returning back home again when he saw them packing up for a vacation. Michael had been happy there, as happy as he's ever let himself be. Where else could Alex hope to find him, but there?

With renewed determination, Alex puts his foot down, adamant he'll get to Michael as soon as he can. He replays their conversation over and over as he drives, remembering a water park Michael described being taken to, and a boathouse where Michael said he and his foster parents had once sheltered from the rain.

Alex's stomach begins to churn when he drives by the beach bandshell he remembers so vividly from Michael's description. And his heart starts racing when a little further up, he spots Michael's truck. Michael is stood just a few feet in front of it with his back to Alex as he stares out over the lake. Alex cuts the engine telling his hands they aren't shaking. Hammers his fists against his legs to stop them from doing the same, and makes himself climb out the car.

Michael doesn't turn, not for the churn of Alex's boots in the gravel, or for the dog rushing by his feet pursuing a thrown ball. He's close enough to touch; Alex debates reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, aching so much to touch Michael that he struggles talking himself out of it for not wanting to make Michael jump.

Alex's throat is dry, and it's hard enough finding his words anyway. But he's come all this way, and he has to speak to Michael, whatever the outcome. So Alex clears his throat, takes a step to the side so that if Michael turns he isn't right there in his face, making him startle.

"Michael?" he says, holding his breath.

Alex is met with a cold, empty stare when Michael turns.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey. Michael. Can you hear me?"

Panic makes Alex's heart pound faster when Michael continues to stare without saying a word. There is something in his eyes, something wild; even unhinged. Alex knows Michael would never hurt him. But Michael looks to be so tortured by his own grief, that Alex still hesitates before reaching out.

"Michael..."

" _No_."

Alex gets as far as extending his hand before Michael is blocking him, avoiding his touch.

"I'm—"

"If you say you're sorry, or you're worried, or you're _anything—_ "

"I _am_."

"Then you can just turn around and leave," Michael says, wide eyed as he points back to the road. "Go. _Leave_ , Alex. It's what you're good at. I don't even know the hell why you're here anyway."

"You think I wouldn't follow you?" Alex asks, adamant the anger Michael is raging at him is fuelled by more than just his appearance. Something else is off here, he knows it is.

"Actually, yes. Why would you follow me, Alex? Why?"

The dull slap of Michael dropping his hands against his thighs takes Alex's attention while he tries to compose his words.

"Because I'm not leaving you. Not this time."

"Oh yeah?"

"No."

"See. I'm pretty sure I'm the one that left _you_. I meant to, Alex. This is _it_. This is everything now. We're _done_."

Really, Alex should have been expecting this. Instead of rehearsing all these heartfelt confessions on the way over, he should have practiced hearing these words, Michael's attempts to be cruel enough to push him away. He can't pretend the words don't sting, even if only some of them are justified. Maybe they all are. Maybe he did everything to invite this.

"I told you. Or, I am telling you. I'm here now. I'm not leaving again. I didn't drive all this way—"

"You want gas money, or something?" Michael says, yanking his wallet from a back pocket. "Here. Take all of it. I don't need anything. Just _go_ , Alex."

Alex covers Michael's hand before he can pull the bills he's trying to from the wallet, and his touch makes Michael violently jolt before moving to pull back. There is a rattling sound in his throat, sharp intakes of breath that Alex thinks put him on the edge of either a panic attack or a deluge of tears. So he tightens his grip on him, curls his fingers over Michael's hand still around the wallet, refusing to let go.

"I'm not going."

"Why?" Michael croaks out, his eyes already flooded with tears when he looks up.

"You know why."

"I have no idea why you even thought I'd want to see you again. Don't you get it, Alex? Can't take a hint, or something?"

"No." Alex stands firm, slowly shaking his head, his stomach lurching when Michael's face crumples.

"Just go..."

"No. No, I won't, Michael. Not this time. I'm not."

Alex's heart breaks as Michael collapses against him, struggling to breathe for the tight grip around his waist. He rests one hand on Michael's back as the other toys with his hair, trying to soothe him from whatever misery he's working through and feeling as though he is making no difference at all.

Alex peers over Michael's shoulder at the lake as he holds him, monitoring the slow passing of a duck swimming by while waiting for Michael to calm. Which feels like it might not be for a while. The duck is long out of Alex's eyeline when Michael squeezes him tight and loosens his grip, though still doesn't quite let him go.

"Are you staying somewhere?" Alex asks when Michael's shuddering begins to settle, his tears snuffled into Alex's jacket and neck as he shakes his head. "Nowhere?"

"Truck."

"But your foster parents..."

"Gone," Michael chokes out as fresh tears begin to fall, "they're all gone. I've got nothing. _Nothing_ , Alex. They're all gone."

Alex wraps his arms around him tighter, determined to hold on for as long as Michael lets him. Cursing at the universe for all the hurt Michael's ever known.

* * *

Alex listens as the shower water shuts off and sags in relief, bracing against the bed to stand. He'd guided Michael into his car and driven them back to a small motel he'd remembered seeing on the way into town, leading him into a room. Michael had stood there, unmoving, with no emotion on his face, and no indication he even knew where he was. Alex's suggestion of a shower to freshen up was met with a blank silence, Michael only going when Alex helped him out of his clothes and switched the shower on himself.

Will Michael even want him here? Alex eyes both their bags trying to guess what Michael might want him to do, how long it might be before he's telling him to leave again. In theory, he could stay, take another room or even sleep in the car if at some point Michael does ask him to go. Though Alex is not sure his leg would thank him for a night in his car. He is still toying with the idea of another room just in case when the bathroom door cracks open.

"My clothes," Michael says, making Alex's stomach jolt for how flat his voice still is.

"Oh. Sorry."

Alex grabs Michael's bag and hands it to him through the gap in the door, politely looking elsewhere. Michael takes it, and Alex steps back expecting the door to close immediately. When it doesn't he looks back, deliberately only looking at Michael's face.

"You... brought me clothes?"

"I wasn't sure if you'd taken any with you. I didn't know what you needed, so. I just... grabbed some stuff."

Michael doesn't need to know that Alex's hands had gravitated to all the shirts that are his favorite on him. Michael stares back at Alex, clearly thinking as he looks him over. Alex holds still to let him, until Michael closes the door in his face without another word.

Michael's clothes from earlier are still in a heap on the floor. Alex picks them up and carefully folds them even though they need to be washed. When he's done, he makes a neat pile on the room's only table, laying out the remainder of the food he has beside them, which isn't much. Though he realizes as he looks that he's chosen Michael's favorite candy, and Michael's favorite flavor chips. Michael is with him, always. Even in the most mundane of thoughts.

Alex closes his eyes, determined not to let those thoughts wander. He knows the bottle and a half of water they have won't last them long, and doesn't even think Michael's thought about eating or drinking anything since he left. It's only been hours since he last saw him, really; Michael shouldn't already look so thin.

The bathroom door opens behind him again. Alex tries not to look, then tries to keep his expression neutral. Michael, with his hair all over, in a t-shirt clinging to still wet skin, and barefoot, should not be stealing Alex's ability to think quite like it is. He's been lucky enough to have this view so many times before; enough times to have taken it for granted. Though it's not his to have now, and the reminder of that calls Alex to action, shaking his head as he stuffs his wallet and phone in his pockets.

"I'm gonna head back. Get your truck. Get you some food. Okay?"

Michael stares at him blankly, once again looking as though he's forgotten how to move.

"Michael? Is there anything you want? Anything you feel like?"

"Sleep."

Alex watches him fold back the comforter and crawl into the bed, resisting the urge to tuck him in. Though he does wait until Michael settles before taking his car keys from the pocket Alex knows he always keeps them, then picks up the room key convincing himself it's so Michael won't be disturbed. Not an attempt to stop him from leaving. Which is pointless; it's not like he can't open a lock by himself if he wants to.

It's a twenty-minute walk back down the road to retrieve Michael's truck. Alex's stump smarts when he finally climbs into the cab of it; he blames it on restless sleep and too many hours behind the wheel. By the time he's picked up a few groceries and made it back to the motel, Alex is limping. He lets himself back in to the room as quietly as he can, checking over Michael as he sleeps. Though he's aching too much to think on it for too long. Alec makes his way over to the room's small couch and drops down on it hard enough to make it scrape back across the floor. He holds still, watching Michael's sleeping form on the bed, glad when he doesn't stir.

He still has his groceries to unpack. Alex groans as he stands again, storing away the few things he's brought in the fridge, keeping one bottle of water that he uncaps as he sinks back down on the couch. He swallows back painkillers hoping that they start to work immediately, massaging over his leg the second he has his prosthetic off.

Alex continues to watch Michael sleep. He's lain awake enough times to know the familiar rise and fall of his shoulders, the way Michael prefers to curl on his side. When they've been together, Alex thinks he's spent hours tracing patterns into Michael's skin or smoothing hair back from his face waiting for him to wake. He itches to touch him now, but that would feel like a violation. And besides, he's already told himself repeatedly that Michael isn't his to touch. Though he questions his reasoning; why would he have set off to chase after Michael if he didn't think of him as _his_? Alex falls asleep with the question unanswered, legs dangling over the arm of the couch.

* * *

Everything hurts when Alex wakes. There is a crick in his neck from falling asleep at an awkward angle, and an ache in his back for the same. His stump is still throbbing; it's been a while since it's hurt enough for him to pay attention to. Alex checks that Michael is still sleeping then presses his hands into the couch cushions, wobbling as he stands. He winces for the noise he makes moving across the room to the bathroom propping himself up on furniture as he goes, tugging down his jeans to properly inspect the slight redness of his leg.

Nothing looks wrong, or makes him worry, though Alex knows it's best if he stays off his leg for a while. A good night's sleep might be enough to fix things. But since he doesn't know where he's sleeping tonight, Alex has no idea if that is going to happen. He tugs back up his jeans, jolting in surprise when he opens the bathroom door to find Michael standing on the other side of it.

"You finished in there?"

"I have. Yes," Alex says, stumbling as he tries to move out of Michael's path. Instinctively Michael reaches for him when he wobbles, and Alex just as instinctively clutches on to him as he rights himself. But then a stiffness straightens Michael's spine, reminding Alex once again about that self-imposed rule of not touching. He pulls away, not knowing if it was Michael who tensed first, or if he only tensed because _he_ did. Alex can feel Michael watching as he makes his way across the room to sit at the table, toying with a candy bar for something to do with his hands.

The bathroom door closes behind him. Alex sags for the moment of solitude it brings, pleading with himself to find the answer of what happens next. Michael walks back through far quicker than Alex is prepared for, hand at the back of his neck as he stretches. Alex forces himself not to look, still tugging on the candy bar wrapper. Michael snags a bottle of water, dropping down on the end of the bed as he drinks. He's still staring at Alex. Alex tells himself he has to look back.

"So. What are you doing here, Alex?"

At least Michael is sounding something like himself again. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and still an air of general defeat about him, but Alex will take that over the emptiness he'd been met with a few hours before.

"You. I came here for you," he says, but is that really true? Didn't he really drive all this way for himself?

"Why?" Michael asks, unblinking as he stares. "What possible reason would you have for following me?"

Because Maria told him he was gone, because he couldn't do anything without being lost to guilt, because of so many reasons that won't come out as anything but an excuse.

"Because I don't know how to be without you," is what Alex blurts out instead, surprising himself with the honesty, and Michael with the strength of his words.

Michael stares back at him with the water bottle poised to drink from, lowering it to balance on his thigh. "You did just fine in Baghdad. And everywhere else when you went. You did pretty good back home too when you kept walking away from me all the time."

"And I was wrong," Alex says, "I was wrong every time I walked away from you. I'm sorry. And I know sorry isn't enough, but it's... all I have right now."

"So you came all this way, just to tell me you're _sorry_?" Michael says in furious disbelief, scowling at Alex hard enough for him to recoil.

Alex swallows hard, making himself think before speaking. "That, and because I didn't want you to be alone."

"What if I wanted to be alone?"

"I didn't want you to _think_ you're alone, is what I meant."

"Oh. But I am alone," Michael says, taking a sip from his bottle, "I am alone, Alex. Your dad's facility saw to that when he blew up my family, my _mother_. I couldn't be more alone if I tried."

"Max—"

"Max and Isobel felt sorry for me," Michael throws back at him in dismissal. "They shouldn't have. They have each other. And me? I was always meant to be like this. On the outside. Hell, for all I know, it's having me in their life at some point that killed my foster parents here."

"They were killed?" Alex asks, horrified for thinking what Michael might have found. Did he come to visit only to find them injured, and have to watch them die as well?

"Old age. I should've known. They must've been 60-something when they took me in. Probably a little older. But maybe I aged them."

"Michael—"

"I'm a curse, Alex. Toxic."

"You aren't. You aren't, Michael."

Michael stares at him. Alex hasn't got a clue how he's supposed to get through.

"Your leg hurting, or something?" Michael says then, nodding to it. Alex realizes as they've been talking he's been massaging over it.

"A little."

"How come?"

"It just does."

"When'd you find out I left?"

"A couple of hours after you did?" Alex says, guessing. Maybe a few hours after. He can't be sure.

"Maria?"

Alex has to think the message Michael left with Maria was intentional. He has to think that, otherwise he'll dwell on the possibility that Michael meant to hurt him with her again. Which is selfish; Michael isn't his. And if he keeps repeating that to himself he might start believing it. He has no right to be jealous, or hurt, or anything.

"Max and Isobel first, then Maria. Though Maria text first; I just didn't see it."

Michael's face clouds over for the mention of his siblings, though he quickly hides it with a dismissive eye roll. "What did they want?"

"To break down my door demanding I tell them where you are?"

"And how would you know that?" Michael asks, and then frowns, adding, "how _did_ you know?"

"I guessed."

Michael doesn't seem to know what to do with that. He studies him as he takes another gulp of his water. "You guess right first time?"

"No," Alex tells him, freezing when Michael's gaze drops deliberately to his leg again as he nods.

"You need to sleep or something? Will that help it?"

"Later."

"Why not now?"

"Because I'm not tired, Michael," Alex says, trying to stop his voice rising in exasperation. "Because I'm... I don't even know if you want me here."

"I don't."

Alex stares back, showing no reaction. He can tell Michael's truthful tone from his purposefully cutting one, having confirmation of which he's hearing for the way Michael's eyes roll again.

"Fine. Stay. I don't care."

"I can get another room if it makes you more comfortable."

"Me? More comfortable?" Michael says, laughing. "Since when has that bothered you?"

Alex wants to say _always_ , but knows it would be a lie. "It bothers me now. I wanted to see you, to know you were okay—as okay as you could be. And then I... I didn't think beyond that. I just wanted to get to you, Michael."

"Well," Michael says, standing and tossing the water bottle on the bed as he slaps his hands down on his thighs. "You found me. You got to me. So what happens now?"

Alex hasn't got a clue. He really didn't think that far ahead.

"I thought we could talk. Maybe not now. Maybe tomorrow."

"And until then?"

"I don't know... maybe we should eat?" Alex says. There are menus on the reception counter for takeout places nearby. He bought bread, bacon, and eggs so they have something even if they don't go out. Also beer. Lots of beer; if all else fails and Michael refuses to talk to him, they have something to drink at least. Alex wants whatever Michael wants. He just doesn't think Michael knows what that is yet.

Michael nods, still staring at him in thought. He moves over to the other dining chair where he dumped his bag earlier, pulling out one of the pairs of socks Alex packed for him and grabbing his boots. Alex watches in silence, not knowing what to say or do for the best.

"Car keys?"

"Here—"

"No," Michael says, shaking his head when Alex goes to pass him the keys from his truck. "Your car keys."

Alex does as asked, still clueless, watching Michael walk out without another word. Though before he can react, or do anything, Michael is back in the room, brandishing the crutch Alex loathes using but keeps in the car just in case.

"Use it," Michael says, pointing at his leg. "No point standing on ceremony for me. I'll get food."

Alex watches him leave again, relaxed enough to know he isn't going anywhere this evening. He pulls a pair of shorts from his bag and hauls himself up on the crutch, moving easier across the room as he goes to change.

* * *

"Did you order... everything?"

Alex stares in disbelief as Michael unloads two bags full of takeout. It's obvious Michael didn't actually have a clue what he wanted. There is popcorn chicken, onion rings, garlic mushrooms, and some kind of chicken and cheese thing that Alex doesn't know what to make of or really want anywhere near his arteries. Though when Michael hands him a bottle of scotch and starts swigging from a bottle of nail polish remover, Alex is sure it's going to be quite the night. He spots three more bottles of it in the bag on the floor beside them and wonders exactly how drunk Michael might get.

Michael doesn't even answer, just sits down and starts digging in to the first thing he lays his hands on, which is a large, greasy onion ring. Watching him makes Alex realize he's starving. So he cracks the lid on the scotch bottle open and takes a glug, then starts eating himself.

Alex wants to know about the acetone. Michael's told him about it, but he's never witnessed him drinking it for himself. Not to his knowledge anyway; Alex watches Michael drink as though he's drinking a fine bourbon or something, so who knows if he's actually seen him drinking it in the past? Do certain brands taste better? Are some stronger, work faster, more likely to leave him with a headache?

Michael knows he's watching. He stares back at Alex as he works through a bite of the chicken-cheese disaster, washing it down with a mouthful of his drink. He doesn't even wince; Alex wants to think it's a sign that this acetone is a weaker one, and not one that through years of being used to the stuff, Michael's built up a tolerance.

"Ask, if you're gonna."

"Nothing," Alex says, taking a swig of his own drink. He'd look for glasses in the room, but if Michael isn't reaching for one then he won't either.

"Nothing?"

"No."

"That's not what your eyes are saying."

"So what are my eyes saying?" Alex says, trying to make light of it.

Michael picks up another piece of the chicken cheese thing and pops it into his mouth, chewing in thought. "Well. You're not judging. You're not asking. You're... not sure what you're thinking, actually."

Alex smiles, because Michael seems put out that he can't read him as well as he thinks he can. "It's called concern."

"Nothing to be concerned about."

"I—"

"Not your problem."

Alex nods, because how else is he supposed to respond? He continues eating, both for hunger and because he's stuck for what to say. He wants to say so much, yet he doesn't want to say any of the things he's thinking if they're both going to spend the night getting wasted. Though maybe he should say _something_ now, something meaningful, before they drink anything else.

"I love you."

Michael pauses mid-chew, swallowing in discomfort, refusing to meet Alex's eyes. Alex knows that trick, and knows just as well as Michael does how long to keep staring so he'll have to look up.

There is frustration written over Michael's face when he does, finally swallowing the food in his mouth and washing it back with more drink. "And?"

"Nothing," Alex says, determined he won't let Michael get to him. He knows all the words and ways to wound him, and for once he's not using them as an excuse to be pushed away. "Just that. Just that I do, whether you think you're my concern, or not."

Michael is lost. He wants to be cocky, and glib, and brush him off; Alex knows that look. But he also needs to hear those words, Alex knows he does. Because he's lacked so much love in his life, and he needs to hear it from him, specifically, after everything that's happened.

"Well," Michael says, taking a swig from his bottle looking tempted to drain it, "I love you too, Alex. I always have. But where has that got us?"

There is nothing Alex can say to that either. So he shrugs, raises his bottle, waving it for Michael to clink his own against. He won't pretend their relationship has been a fairytale. Even on a good day, it hasn't been anywhere close to ideal. But he does love Michael, desperately, and has done ever since he was seventeen. He's going to prove it to him, and he's going to be there for him. Even knowing Michael will repeatedly push him away.

"Well. Here's to us then," Michael says, finally knocking their bottles together.

Alex holds his up in toast before taking a sip, then tells himself to keep eating, and not to dwell on Michael's words. He'll take that Michael looks less guarded, a little softer around the edges than he had been when he'd arrived. It might be the acetone, it might be the food putting a little flesh to his cheeks. For now, Alex will take it, and wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

When Alex wakes, he is disoriented. It takes a good few minutes to put the dryness of his mouth together with how much he drank last night and understand why everything feels slower. He raises his head, waits to see how bad his hangover is, and is thankful that there is only a dull ache instead of the catastrophe he'd been expecting.

Alex eases himself from the bed, grabbing his crutch to help him to the bathroom. He drinks a full bottle of water in several quick gulps when he's done, wiping his mouth before making his way back to bed. Michael hasn't stirred. Alex debates having painkillers or water or something ready for him, but settles back down beside him empty-handed.

Michael wakes slowly under Alex's quiet gaze, swallowing with a grimace as though there is a disgusting taste on his tongue. He grumbles his way from the bed to use the bathroom, Alex smiling for hearing him still mumbling to himself as he brushes his teeth. Michael comes back to slump down on the bed looking slightly less okay than Alex is feeling, although not too bad for the smirk he gives him as he settles back on his pillow.

"You're not thirsty?" Alex asks, desperate to reach out as he has done so many times, aching to feel Michael's skin against his own. But he won't.

Michael groans, turning his face into his pillow briefly, then rolling back to settle on his side. Alex catches the smirk on his face seconds before Michael raises his hand, jolting when a bottle of water flies through the air and slaps against his palm. It's all for effect, because Michael still needs to sit back up to drink. But once he has he turns a curious gaze on Alex, waiting to see how he will react.

"I'm not thirsty now. Do you want?" Michael asks holding the bottle out to him.

When Alex shakes his head, Michael throws the bottle in the air and follows it as it glides back across the room. He's showing off, and he's testing Alex, pushing to see what might be too much. Alex pats the bed between them when Michael looks, keeping his expression neutral.

"How old were you when you figured out you could do that?"

Michael gives him _that_ smile, the one that says he's remembering something awful, and will jokingly laugh it off. "Right about the time I took a toy some other kid was playing with, and got cracked across the knuckles for it."

Again Alex wants to reach out, to brush his thumb over those knuckles, to press kisses there like they might do anything to take away his pain. He looks down at Michael's hand bracing for the usual swell of guilt he feels every time he sees it, sitting up and reaching out in alarm when it looks better than he remembers. Not perfect, but definitely at least partially healed.

"Max?" Alex asks, carefully cradling Michael's hand between his own and gently tracing over the scarring with his thumbs.

"Yeah."

"Why now, after all this time?" Alex asks, looking up when Michael doesn't answer. Michael is watching his hands on him. Alex can't read his expression.

"I told him about you. About your dad. About how... _this_ happened."

"He didn't know?" Alex asks, aching when Michael shakes his head.

"I figured, I deserved it," Michael says, pulling his hand from Alex's grasp.

"You didn't—"

"And it would be a reminder," Michael adds, finally looking at him.

"A reminder of what?"

"Of what loving someone gets you. Gets _me_ , anyway."

"Michael," Alex says with a painful swallow for all the hurt Michael has been through because of him. "It's not... it's not supposed to be like that."

"No?" Michael says, with a bitter snort. "Well. It's all love's ever got me. Got us. You want me to believe there's something better than this, Alex? 'cos this is all we have. It's all we've got."

We could have so much more than that, Alex wants to tell him, but knows Michael will only hear the words as a lie. So he lies back down, mirroring Michael as he adjusts to get comfortable, staring back at him across the pillows wishing he might find the right thing to say.

* * *

Alex makes breakfast, both of them better for full stomachs when the after-effects of their drinking finally kick in. The previous evening replays for Alex, their stilted, awkward observations of the movie they ended up watching on his laptop when Michael shut down any attempts Alex made to talk.

Michael washes the dishes waving away Alex's offer of help, looking pointedly at his leg until he sits. Alex hates that the silence that follows is so uncomfortable, that the sound of plates being stacked on the rack seems unnecessarily loud in the absence of their words. When he's finished, Michael wants to sleep a while, though Alex thinks a little fresh air might be better for him. For them both.

"Only if you take that thing with you," Michael says, nodding towards Alex's crutch. Alec's leg is better, and he knows they won't walk too far. But he takes the crutch anyway, pleased for the surprised look on Michael's face when he does.

Michael begins to tell him about this town that was his home for just a few months. He was happy here, Alex is reminded as he listens to him talk. He wishes he could see a picture of him back then, see a smiling Michael as a carefree child. The few pictures he's seen of Michael are of him as a teenager, already with a haunted look around his eyes.

"There's an ice cream house just over there," Michael says, pointing out a place a little further along the edge of the lake. "I must have eaten my body weight in ice cream there."

"Do you want to go now?"

"You're not too full of bacon and eggs?"

"There's always room for ice cream," Alex says, walking a little ahead.

Michael continues talking when they get there, recommending half a dozen flavors and settling on a sample of each. Perhaps Alex's awareness is still dull around the edges, because it takes him a while to realize Michael hasn't stopped talking. Michael is avoiding whatever it is he needs to talk about by telling him so much of everything else.

"Do you think we can go back to the motel?" Alex asks the moment they've finished, patting his stomach and pushing his chair back.

"You in a hurry to leave?"

"I booked a week," Alex says with a shrug, pretending he hasn't noticed how guarded Michael's voice has got. He hopes Michael will stay with him for the week, but if he doesn't and really is leaving him for good this time, Alex will need a few days to lick his wounds. It might as well be here.

"Then... why are you wanting to go back so quickly?" Michael asks, suspicion and confusion on his face even as he smiles.

"My leg's hurting a little," Alex says, reaching down to massage over where his stump sits in his prosthetic. It isn't that bad, though he isn't completely lying either. From the quick look of worry on Michael's face Alex knows he's succeeded. This is the one and only time he intends to use his injury as an excuse to get his own way.

"You want us to get a taxi back, or something?" Michael asks once they set off, continually looking down at Alex's leg.

"No. It's fine. We're not that far."

"You're sure?"

"Just don't walk too fast," Alex says, catching the way Michael hesitates about holding out his arm. He doesn't in the end. Though Alex catches the conflict on his face, and it settles something in his chest even if nothing came from it.

Once back in their room Alex snatches up the shorts he'd worn last night, grateful to get his prosthetic off and change. He sits down on the end of the bed, raising his leg to inspect. To his surprise Michael sits beside him and holds his hands out, asking for permission to touch. When Alex nods and pivots enough to give him easier access, Michael carefully grips either side of his stump and gently brushes over it with his thumbs, monitoring Alex's face for discomfort.

"It's only aching."

"It's not normally red like this though, right?" Michael asks, frowning in concern as he looks.

"It's just been a rough few days."

Michael wants to say sorry for it, Alex knows he does, but also doesn't want or need to hear it. He covers Michael's hands with his own encouraging him to let go. When he does, it occurs to Alex it's the first time they've really touched one another since he got here, besides when he'd noticed Michael's hand. Even with all they had to drink last night. Even after falling asleep together. Truly, Alex doesn't know another time when they've shown such restraint.

"So?" Michael says, kicking off his boots and moving so his back is against the headboard, and he's out of Alex's eye line. "We talked. What now?"

"You talked," Alex points out as he makes his way around the bed. "I just listened."

"Then, by all means, Alex. Tell me what you want to say."

The problem is, Alex doesn't know. Or rather he does, but he doesn't have a clue how to get his words across. Instead, he flicks back the comforter so Michael knows to move, pulls his t-shirt over his head to throw on the floor behind him, then crawls into bed. Alex settles on his pillow knowing Michael is watching him, refusing to turn away yet also not making the effort to look.

Alex hears Michael unzipping his jeans, sure he catches the softness of his clothes hitting the floor, then feels the bed dip beside him. Michael pulls the comforter up over them, even his movements echoing his confusion for Alex's actions. There is a huff as Michael arranges his pillows better, and Alex is convinced he can hear him thinking about reaching out to touch. Alex keeps his eyes closed, falling asleep knowing Michael is still watching him.

* * *

Alex wakes to the sound of cooking, something sizzling in the pan calling his attention as he lifts his head, watching Michael stood in front of the stove. It smells good, whatever it is. Alex notices a bag on the counter next to Michael that he didn't put there, that he thinks means Michael must have gone shopping.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Alex yawns and stretches, still watching Michael as he cooks. He's shirtless and barefoot as he so typically is when away from prying eyes, pausing from cooking to take a swig of beer. Which is when he catches Alex looking at him and turns.

"You're up."

"Just."

"Hungry? You've been asleep a while."

Alex checks the time on his phone, surprised to realize he's been asleep for hours. How long did Michael sleep, if he slept at all? "Sure. I guess."

"Good. I found plates. They're... mostly clean. Well. They are now."

Alex slips on his prosthetic and stands, realizing that while he's been sleeping, Michael has been busy. The room is sparkling almost, its surfaces at least, and there are two mugs, cups, and glasses stacked that Alex didn't even realize they had.

"What are we having?"

"Pepper steak. Some mushrooms. These potato things I think are supposed to be tater tots," Michael adds, pulling a pan from the oven and prodding at whatever is in there doubtfully.

Michael is a great cook. Alex knows this from when he's created something delicious out of nothing, in the times in their lives they've had a moment together and money has been short. Michael's fine now, making enough money to look after himself on. But there were times when Alex left him to go back overseas when he's laid awake for hours worrying Michael might not even have enough to eat.

"Thank you," Alex says, taking himself a beer from the fridge, and another for Michael since when he picks his bottle up to check it's almost empty.

"Need to eat."

Alex sits when Michael refuses his offer of help, playing with the beer bottle label as he watches him plate up. "I didn't realize I was so tired."

"You've been driving. Your leg hurts. It's no surprise."

"What about you? You can't have slept much since you took off?"

"Difference between you and me," Michael says as he turns and brings their plates to the table, "is I've lived most of my life out of a truck. I know how to sleep in one."

Alex nods, again wishing Michael's life had been anything different. He picks up his fork and waits for Michael to start eating before doing so himself. "This is great. Thank you."

Michael grunts his response in between a mouthful of food and taking a sip of his beer, head down so he doesn't have to look at Alex. Alex knows it's deliberate, Michael's way of saying he isn't ready to talk. Alex is not sure he'll ever be ready for what he has to say since the last time he tried was the thing that sent him running. Not that Michael leaving was all on him, of course; it would be selfish to think it was.

"I want to put some flowers on their graves."

Alex pauses from eating, still a little sleepy and needing a moment to realize what he means. "Your foster parents?"

"Yeah. Cemetery closes in a couple hours. I'm going after this."

"I'll come with you. If you want me to, that is," Alex adds. This is a private moment with people that Alex has no knowledge of aside from the few stories Michael has told him.

Perhaps he only feels like he knows more because of the loving, open way Michael has spoken about his foster parents. Maybe Michael holds them so close to his heart because he hasn't known any other love his whole life. Maybe they played substitute to his own mom, because Michael didn't even know she really existed until now. And now she's gone; Alex can't even try to imagine what Michael must be feeling. Once again he's struck with how selfish his actions have been, and doesn't know how to help.

"Do what you want," Michael says. From the brief look up from his plate Alex knows it's practically an invitation. He continues to eat in silence, imagining Michael is replaying memories that he doesn't want to share.

Michael insists on washing their dishes, and then insists that he drives. Alex thinks he needs to keep busy, and doing things so he doesn't have to confront what it is he's feeling inside. He doesn't blame him for it, knows it's just Michael's way of coping. Though how will he ever get over what he's going through if he isn't willing to talk? Alex argues with himself on the drive to the cemetery about forcing the issue, and being quietly supportive. From the furtive looks Michael keeps giving him, when they pull up at the cemetery Alex still doesn't know what to do for the best.

As Michael jumps out the trunk barely before he's cut the engine, Alex watches him charge around to the back. He catches sight of a bouquet of flowers in the mirror and more slowly gets out himself.

"Your leg okay?" Michael asks, giving the crutch Alex is yet to take out a look where it lies on the back seat.

"It's better."

"Still need this thing," Michael says, taking the crutch out himself and handing it to him. He glares until Alex uses it, nodding in approval as he turns.

The gravel crunches beneath their feet as they make their way along the path taking them through the cemetery. Michael moves as though he knows exactly where he's headed; Alex wonders if he's already looked up where the graves will be. Though Alex knows the exact moment Michael finds them for the way his shoulders square and his head raises almost in defiance; Alex recognizes the sharp intake of breath as one that means Michael is on the verge of tears.

Michael drops to his knees, unnecessarily tidying up the already-neat grave site, carefully laying his bouquet at the foot of the headstone so it doesn't obscure the writing. As Alex reads the stone, he realizes that for all of Michael's storytelling of these people, it isn't until now that he's learned Michael's foster parent's names. _Bonnie and Fred Trundell_ died just three years apart, at a good age. Though what is a good age when a person you love leaves you?

"Fred had this vegetable patch he used to grow herbs, carrots, stuff like that in. Showed me how to sow seeds, turn soil over to get the air in; all that stuff. Couple of times, I've tried doing the same outside the Airstream, but, you know. Not exactly the best place for anything to thrive."

"No. I guess not."

Should he grasp his shoulder? Will Michael shrug off his touch? Alex stands beside him in solidarity looking for clues on how to behave, but Michael gives him nothing. He brushes the dirt from his knees when he stands again, staring down at the shared grave as though looking right through it. There are no tears, no words, no nothing. Only silence as Michael stands and grieves.

Alex has no idea how long they stand there, almost jolting for the sudden movement as Michael turns on his heel. That empty look is back in his eyes again, and it makes Alex's heart start to race. "Are you okay?"

"Got somewhere to show you."

Alex hurries to catch up when Michael takes off, thankful at least that if Michael wants to show him something, it means he wants him there. Though silence follows them as they drive, Alex continuing to take glances at Michael that tell him nothing of his mood, or where they're headed.

They pull on to a street, coming to a stop outside a house that, aside from looking a little overgrown, is beautiful. It's a two-story building with a large driveway, double garage, and so many plants and flowers that Alex thinks whoever lives there must spend hours gardening. Though his eyes then fall to the plaque on the gate, where vines of ivy are already creeping across, and Alex is sure his heart stops.

The house, the property, is called _Guerin_.

"It means _to guard_ ," Michael says, his voice monotone. "You know that?"

"No. I didn't." Alex turns to look at him; Michael shakes his head asking him not to say anything else.

"You know. Up until I came here, I was a _Steve_. A _Martin_. A bunch of other names I don't remember that never stuck. Mostly, I was just 'that kid with a problem' that no one really wanted around; much less give a name."

Alex's heart is in his throat. He doesn't know why this is hurting him so much, but it is. The thought of Michael loveless, and _nameless_ , without a soul in the world cuts him enough to make Alex want to double over. Though he can't. He needs to listen, to be here for Michael.

"I'd been here no more than a couple of days when they helped me pick a name for myself," Michael says with an aching, wistful smile as he looks at the house. "Right around the back; Fred was barbecuing, Bonnie'd just put out this homemade lemonade. They gave me this pad of paper, and crayons, and over dinner we... we figured out a name. _My_ name."

Michael's voice is beginning to crack, and Alex's heart is racing for it. He watches him in profile desperate to reach out, to do something to help.

"I started using the name Guerin as my surname when I got to high school. I thought about Evans for a while, but... I wasn't their family. Here's the only place I ever... even if it was only a few months, here was the only place I ever felt at home."

Michael's head drops forward, his jaw begins to tremble, and Alex can no longer just watch. He rests a hand on Michael's shoulder in invitation, stomach clenching for the first sob he hears, and holding Michael as he turns to drop into his arms.

* * *

Alex drives them back to the motel. It takes a lot of persuasion and literal shoving to get Michael into the passenger seat. It takes even more persuasion and a lot of coaxing to get him back out again once they arrive. Alex guides him to the bed, quickly flipping back the comforter, tugging Michael's boots off as he swings his feet on to the bed.

Michael's expression is back to being blank, no longer acknowledging a single word Alex is saying. Alex debates passing him one of the bottles of nail polish remover he notices Michael bought earlier to replace what he already drank. Though as he turns from him, having made the decision to, he is prevented from going anywhere by Michael grabbing his hand.

" _Please.._."

Alex slumps on the side of the bed, turning just enough so that his knee is resting on it, and Michael has easier access to both of his hands. Alex watches Michael play with his fingers against his thigh, something he's done many times in the past when there is chaos in his head. But when Michael looks up, the devastation on his face tells Alex there is nothing he can say or do to fix this. He wouldn't even know where to start.

Michael's eyes begin to fill with tears; Alex has never felt so helpless. He shakes his head, not to tell him not to cry, but in the hope Michael understands he's stranded here, wanting to do something, just as soon as he tells him what it is. Michael drops his gaze, startling Alex when he crushes him into a hug, crying once more into his neck as he had out in the truck.

It's when Michael tries to kiss him that alarm bells really start sounding for Alex. It's instinctive to kiss him back, to hold Michael just as tight as he always has. He's missed him, so it takes several seconds before his mind catches up with how wrong this is, no matter how good it feels. Alex grips Michael just above the elbow and gently pushes him back, accepting his kisses when Michael claims them until he can bring himself to stop.

"We can't."

"Help me forget."

"I can't, Michael."

"But if you love me..." Michael is angry, and tearful, and still trying to pull Alex closer.

"I do," Alex replies, tearful himself, "I do love you, Michael. That's why I can't do this."

"But why?"

"Because," Alex says, playing with Michael's hair and closing his eyes for the kiss to his palm, "you're going through hell right now. I'd be taking advantage, and I think... I think I've put you through enough."

"Alex," Michael whispers, his voice stolen from him by his own tears.

Alex slots his fingers through the back of Michael's hair guiding his face into his neck, holding on tight as he cries.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember me saying this was a whimsical kind of story? Well, here's where it gets whimsical! Also... in advance, _yes_ I know, I'm sorry; everything will start to get better in the next part.

"Bonnie was gonna have heart surgery."

Alex startles awake for Michael's words, disoriented until he remembers Michael falling asleep in his lap. He plays with his hair, fingers tangling in the curls there as he's spent so many hours doing in the past, waiting for Michael to continue to talk.

"It's why they couldn't keep me longer. I overheard them talking with the social worker about it; system decided they were a risk, or _at_ risk, because they weren't in perfect health. Some crap like that, anyway."

"You can't be a foster parent without perfect health?"

"Beats me. I never got how it works. I know I was their last foster kid, though. I remember some damn social worker leading me to the car, walking away from that house, and _them_ , like my heart'd been cut out. Never stayed in a place like that again."

"I'm sorry," Alex says. His words empty, and he has no other way of expressing all he feels.

"Worst thing is," Michael says, turning so his forehead is against Alex's thigh instead of his cheek, "I think they were gonna try adopting me. Saw some paperwork about it, and stuff. Never got a chance to have it happen."

Alex is crushed. All those years of dreaming of a better life for Michael, when he was so close to having just that. And if Alex is devastated for that missed opportunity, how Michael must be feeling? _Have_ felt at the time? He runs his hands over Michael's shoulders, having a smile waiting for him when he looks up.

"I bet you were a cute kid."

"Tell that to all the kids who thought I needed a makeover with their fists. Or foster parents, for that matter," Michael adds, with that smile that says he's just fine with the terrible things he's remembering, when he is anything but.

"I wish things had been different for you," Alex says, knowing it's the wrong thing when he watches the walls come down on Michael's face.

"Yeah," he says, pushing himself up then standing, stretching beside the bed with his back to him. "Well. It's just how it is."

Alex doesn't know what to say. He moves to join him, taking the beer Michael offers and watching him slump on to the couch. He pulls a chair from beneath the table and turns it, resting his arms along its back to sit. "Do you know what happened?"

"When?"

"To your foster parents. Bonnie and Fred."

"Well. I guess Bonnie's first heart surgery went just fine. Second one not so much; I read an obituary. Died three years ago. Fred just last year."

"I'm sorry," Alex says again, hating those empty words.

"Yeah. Well. Happens."

"When was the last time you saw them? You said you checked up on them sometimes?"

"Not to speak to," Michael says; his face is filled with regret. "I guess... a little over four years."

He's hiding something. Alex can tell from the way his face clouds over and how he takes a larger swig of his beer. Alex wants to ask, but also doesn't want to intrude. Though their conversation is in danger of falling into total silence if he doesn't.

"Did you go back a lot?" he asks, watching Michael pick at the bottle label.

"Every few years I guess. When I needed a reminder of—when I was driving and over this way. Last time was 'cos of you," Michael adds, making Alex's heart thud.

"Why?"

Michael smiles, and it's a bitter, dark thing. Alex watches Michael's face shift through several seconds, holding steady when Michael's gaze finally lands on him. "We'd argued. You'd gone back, storming off—like you did I've lost count how many times."

It's a fair observation, though it isn't easy for Alex to hear.

"You must've been back over there a week? Two? Something like that. We started hearing rumors about some big explosion. Some friendly fire thing, or... I don't even know; story kept changing. Point is, word got back to Roswell that you were dead. I didn't... do so well, hearing that. Drove out for hours, winded up parked outside Fred and Bonnie's just wishing I could go in, talk to someone about stuff. About _you_."

Alex can't find his words, both for the memory of that event, and what it so obviously did to Michael. Michael nods like he knows he's struggling.

"By the time I got back to Roswell, new stories were going around. Said you were injured, but fine. Some mine, or something; I don't know."

"There was an ambush. Some insurgents somehow snuck into camp, let off grenades, firing on us; it's kind of blurry." Alex remembers it clearly, marking each similar event by the loss of a friend. He wants to say it wasn't anything unusual, that so many other events like that happened over the years. He also wants to say Michael has since kissed some of the wounds from that particular event better, without even knowing it. But now is not the time to remind him. And besides, the scars from those wounds are long gone. Blown to pieces when he lost his lower leg altogether.

"I lost count the number of times I thought I'd lost you for good," Michael adds, staring at him so hard that Alex can't tear his eyes away. "None of 'em were on my terms."

Is that what you want? Alex wants to ask. Does Michael want to lose him for good, but to be the one who's making that decision? He stares back, looking for guidance for what Michael needs from him; even if what he needs is nothing.

"Though I guess no one ever does get things happen like that," Michael adds, still staring at him in contemplation.

"No. I guess not."

"I need some air," Michael says then, standing up abruptly and draining his beer.

"Okay—"

"Alone."

Michael walks back over to the bed, sitting to pull his boots on. Alex watches him squeeze his thighs like he's buying time, or bracing for an argument. Alex says nothing, doesn't even look his way, hoping it's the right thing to do, to give him space. He listens to the door open and close, and Michael's truck start up just seconds later. Alex stands to tuck his chair back beneath the table, slumping to the couch, having no idea what he's supposed to do now.

* * *

In Michael's absence, Alex tries to kill time. The motel's wifi is surprisingly good today, so at first he finds a movie to stream, and then he tackles a difficult piece of coding that he works through sometimes for fun. Coding is a puzzle for him, something to solve and put into a recognizable order to get certain results; he understands it and what to do, unlike anything else in his life.

Every sound of a car pulling into the motel parking lot has him looking up from the screen in hope. Every passing footstep he holds his breath for in case it's followed by the turning of a key. But five hours later there is still no sign of Michael. Alex doesn't know what to do, if he should go after him again, even if he thinks Michael won't have gone very far. So he takes a shower for something to do, makes a sandwich he barely tastes, and when there is still no sign of Michael goes to bed, falling into a restless sleep.

Michael is sat by his foot when Alex wakes early the next morning, sun streaming in through the window and a look on Michael's face that says he hasn't slept.

"What is it?" Alex asks as he sleepily drags himself upright, slumping back against the headboard as he yawns.

"I went to the house."

"Your foster parent's?"

"Yeah," Michael says, repeatedly turning over what looks like a business card.

"Did you... see something there?"

"It was just like I remember."

"You went inside?" Alex asks in alarm, fearing nosy neighbors and accusations of trespassing; even if it's clear Michael has come to no harm.

"I did," Michael agrees, looking up but not quite at Alex.

"And?"

"They still had a picture of me. On a frame, on the mantelpiece," Michael says, shaking his head in disbelief. "They must've fostered a bunch of kids, but. I'm the only one who's got a picture in that house."

"They loved you," Alex says, warmth seeping into him for the thought of it. He hopes Michael can take comfort from that if nothing else.

"Yeah," Michael agrees, with the beginnings of a smile, "they did."

"They never had children of their own?"

"They couldn't. Bonnie must've always had some kind of health problems that meant she couldn't. I saw some paperwork; I know I shouldn't have looked, but I did. They started fostering a couple of years after getting married. I was their last."

"All their stuff is still in the house?"

"Everything. It's like they just left. Like... they were just taken out of it, and the house left behind."

Alex wishes he could interpret the look on Michael's face, but he can't. He wants to reach for him, doesn't know if it would be wanted, so instead settles for sliding his foot across the bed beneath the comforter until it touches Michael's back.

"So..."

"Neighbors came out," Michael says, laughing as he shakes his head. "Said they'd seen my truck out front three times now. Thinking about calling the cops. These folks love their security cameras."

"Oh."

"They were the ones who let me into the house," Michael adds, with a look that says he knows what Alex has been thinking, that he broke and entered and could have gotten himself into trouble. "Fred left them a key and told 'em to keep an eye out for the place when... when he was getting sick."

"Why would they let you in?" Alex asks, swallowing hard for the dart of pain that crosses Michael's face before he gets it under control.

"Beats me. Must look trustworthy, or something."

Now is not the time for Michael to be self-deprecating, or mocking. Something is happening, or has happened; Alex is desperate to know what.

"Michael—"

"I said I used to live there," Michael says, still toying with the business card he's clutching on to. "Told them I was a foster kid. Turns out they remembered me, Alex. Said Bonnie and Fred used to talk about me. Said they even knew when I drove by to check on them. How they wished I would've just come on in."

"That's... good?"

Michael closes his eyes, his expression one Alex knows only too well. His skin is pallid with the regret of missed opportunities. Alex leans forward, scooting down the bed so he is nearer. Michael leans against his shoulder and sighs.

"Yeah. Maybe it is good."

Michael is distracted, and thinking, practically vibrating with a _something_. Alex doesn't have the patience not to ask.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Michael turns to look at him in consideration, before waving the business card at him. "This, is the number for Bonnie and Fred's executor of will. Fred left it with the neighbor, in case I came calling again."

Alex nods in encouragement, as Michael seems to get stuck staring at the card in disbelief.

"The house," Michael says, shaking his head, "they left it to me, Alex. To _me_. They just didn't know how to find me."

* * *

The next few hours pass by in a blur.

Michael paces back and forth willing time to speed up so he can call the number on the card, with Alex so anxious to stop him pacing he almost kisses him to distract him. He doesn't, instead takes refuge in the bathroom where he takes far longer than necessary getting dressed. When he comes out, Michael is vibrating on the spot determined to drive to the office and wait until someone sees him. Alex doesn't say a word to caution him knowing it will fall on deaf ears.

Alex waits in the car wanting to be there with Michael but also not wanting to intrude. Michael's thoughts are elsewhere anyway; he kisses Alex absently before jumping out the car, a harmless see-you-soon kind of kiss that Alex really shouldn't pay as much attention to as he does. Then it's his turn to vibrate with anticipation, staring at the executor's office doors and absolutely not dwelling on that kiss.

Michael looks stunned when he climbs back in the car almost two hours later, clutching a wad of paperwork that looks complicated, formal, and well-thumbed. He doesn't seem capable of speaking, so Alex waits to see what he wants to do, putting his seat belt on when Michael wedges the paperwork under his thigh and drives.

Over breakfast in a cafe he remembers from when he was younger, Michael continues to shake his head with his eyes wide in astonishment as he tells Alex about his unbelievable, impossible meeting.

"They left me so much, Alex," he says, with awe in his voice, laughing. "Feels like they left me everything."

"Such as?"

"The house, for starters," Michael says, thumbing through the paperwork. "The car went to the neighbor's grandson since he was going to college and needed a ride."

"That's good."

"It is," Michael agrees. "And there's money in the bank. Like... more money than I know what to do with. I mean it's not that much, maybe? But I... there's enough to do the house up. Take some time to start over. I think."

"Start over?" Alex says, his heart racing in alarm as the implication of his words register. "Here?"

"Not like I've got much waiting for me back in Roswell."

Alex fixes a smile on his face, ignoring the words of protest threatening to spill from his mouth. He wants Michael to be happy even if he selfishly doesn't want him to leave. He also wants this to be real, if Michael really wants it; Alex doesn't think Michael can take being let down yet again. "And it's... I mean, are you sure it's yours?"

"The will named me as the last foster child in their care. Executor guy got off the phone from some social services person, who sent my details over while I was sat there. I don't know what else they need from me yet, but... it's all legit. Seems so, anyway. If I want it."

"So… just like that?" Alex says, screwing his face up. He doesn't want Michael to think he's unsupportive, but this is all so _much_.

"The will, Alex. They named me as _Michael_. _Foster kid named Michael_. Put a clause in it saying if I wasn't back in five years after the last one of them died, everything could be turned over to all these charities. The guy, the executor said, they were hoping that if I didn't come back it meant I'd got on with my life. My _own_ life. Guess Bonnie and Fred knew me better than anyone," Michael adds, laughing as he continues to thumb through the paperwork. "Knew I'd never figure things out on my own."

What is Alex supposed to say to that? "Well. If for any reason you need... I don't know. I.D. and stuff making up, or something. Records changing. I can help with that."

He wants to help, and he doesn't want to help, but he loves Michael. Whatever he needs from him he has to give him, even if it breaks Alex's heart in the process.

"Alex Manes? Willing to forge government-issued documentation for me?" Michael teases, giving Alex what is probably his first genuine smile since arriving.

"For you, yes. Anything."

Michael stares back at him, nodding. "Well. I'll let you know."

"So, what happens now?" Alex says when silence grows between them. He can't watch anymore as Michael thumbs through that damn paperwork that's going to tear them apart.

He can't blame the paperwork. He only has himself to blame, his father, and the very worst of timing.

"Well," Michael says, sighing as he stretches against the table. "It's gonna take some time."

"How much time?"

"Weeks, maybe. He seemed confident it wouldn't be too long, but. I sure as hell've never done anything like this before. I got no idea what to expect, or what I'm gonna have to do."

"So you're... coming back to Roswell for now?" Alex says, trying to hide the hope he feels behind a neutral smile.

Michael doesn't even hesitate. "No."

Alex tells himself he has no right to be disappointed, or worried. "No?"

"How many times am I gonna get an opportunity like this in my life, Alex? _Me_?" Michael says, his voice raising like he's angry for Alex potentially putting obstacles in his way. "Never. I gotta seize this with both hands, hold on to it, 'till someone tries to steal it from me. Tells me there's been some kind of mistake. I got no reason to go back. I don't have anything I need from back there. I don't."

Alex thinks of the bunker with Michael's ship, and of the Airstream parked up. Two signs that Michael doesn't really belong anywhere. Alex sees his point but wishes that he didn't. Wishes _he_ was enough for Michael to come back to.

"So what about Isobel? Max? Maria?" he says, silently adding _me_ , because he doesn't want to know Michael's reaction if he says it out loud.

"Maria'll find someone new to hate in the Pony," Michael says, shrugging with a smile of memory Alex tells himself he has no right not to like. "Max and Iz... I guess I'll get in contact sometime."

"When can you stay in the house?" Alex asks, imagining staying alone in a motel a few minutes from Michael beginning his new life. He doesn't think he can.

"Not yet. Soon, I think. Something to do with temporary rights until all the official stuff is signed off on."

"So you're... staying at the motel?"

"If that's okay? You paid for it, and all."

"Of course," Alex says, swallowing quickly. "Is it okay if I stay?"

Michael shrugs, uninterested. "You said you booked the week. So stay the week."

And then?

Alex is desperate to ask, but also desperate not to know the answer, already knowing he'll be going home alone. He imagines a future in Roswell without Michael and feels all warmth seep out of his world.

* * *

"So. Thanks for coming to check on me."

There is a constant wail of protest ringing in Alex's ears, the same one that's been there at different pitches ever since Michael disappeared from Roswell more than a week ago. But he can't say anything, not for how happy Michael looks, not for the lightness in his expression that says he's excited about doing something for himself for once.

"You're welcome," Alex says, throwing his bag into the back of his car. These past few days have gone too quickly, far too quickly. He and Michael have been friends, new ones, spending their time together during the day with stilted comfort, and falling asleep side by side each night. Physically together, but never further apart.

He's wanted to reach for Michael. Wanted to initiate kisses, and hugs, and all kinds of intimacy that he doesn't think Michael even thinks of with him anymore. Alex has seen Michael laugh more in these past few days than he thinks he has in the ten-plus years he's known him. That says a lot. And though it breaks his heart, Alex knows Michael will be better off without him. He won't be without Michael, but that isn't his decision. And it isn't Michael's problem.

"Gonna be quiet here without you," Michael adds, nodding behind them to the motel room. Michael is staying there another week as some paperwork is finalized before he can move into his home. His _home_ ; aside from the Airstream, Michael's never had a home of his own. There is nothing Alex would want more for him. He just wishes it wasn't here, so far from where _he_ is.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it."

"Gonna have a whole house to get used to soon."

Michael still doesn't quite believe his luck, Alex knows he doesn't, even for all the blustering confidence he sometimes shows.

"You will. But it'll be good."

"It'll be great. I think I can go in a couple of days and start figuring out what needs keeping, taking out, decorating; all that."

He'll probably do it all by hand, all by himself. Michael never asks for help, the idea never occurs to him that he could. Alex hopes his neighbors are kind over curious, that Michael's need for privacy doesn't come off as hostile. More than anything, Alex hopes Michael finds peace in his new world. Peace is something he's never been able to give him, only chaos and hurt.

"Sounds good," Alex says, telling himself once more that he's selfish for even thinking about how Michael's absence is going to devastate _him_.

"When are you back to work?" Michael asks. _He_ isn't concerned by their separation. If anything, Alex thinks he's looking forward to him leaving.

"Couple of days."

Alex doesn't want to go back to the base. The army is the only thing Alex has felt he belonged to, but even that now feels like a lie. It always has done, really. But now that Michael's finding a way to move on with his life, the delusion that Alex's life is fine won't hold. With Michael gone, Alex doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't want anything, really, but Michael. But Michael isn't something he can have.

"Good."

"Yeah."

Alex doesn't know what else to say. He's still bargaining with himself that there will be no tears until he's out of town, where he'll pull over to the side of the road if he has to, to cry out his loss. Alex pulls open the car door not trusting himself to stand there a moment longer. Michael grabs the frame of it before Alex can climb in.

"Do something for me?" he says, tilting his head to the side as he studies Alex in thought.

"Anything." Alex expects to hear a message to pass on to Michael's siblings, won't let himself hope there will be some words for him.

Michael pulls his car keys from his back pocket, sliding those to the Airstream from the ring. He hesitates before handing them over, dropping the keys into Alex's upturned palm. "Keep an eye on her for me, would you? Don't know what I'm doing with her yet."

"I'll move her to the cabin. She'll be safer there," Alex says, pleading with his voice to keep steady.

Michael nods, continuing to stare.

Alex has to leave, he has to leave _now_ ; he doesn't trust himself not to fall apart right in front of Michael if he doesn't.

"Can you, uh... let Max, and Isobel that I'm okay?" Michael asks, stopping Alex's second attempt to climb in his car. "I don't know... I'm not ready to see them, or talk to them; not yet. But I'll... just let them know I'm okay. Okay, Alex?"

Alex nods, having to swallow a couple of times before he can reply with, "of course."

There isn't anything else Michael has to say to him. These days spent together haven't found them any better words. Alex is going home now, leaving Michael behind him. Though for once it is Michael who is doing the leaving behind.

"Wait."

Michael's grip on Alex's sleeve cuff pulls him back as he begins to turn away. Alex looks back at Michael in expectation, demanding to himself for a second time that he doesn't hope for anything.

"I love you," Michael says, sighing. "I need you to know that, Alex. Always have, always will."

"I love you too," Alex replies, hating that his voice cracks.

"I just can't do this. Everything's just... there are too many memories here. Bad ones. We're not _good_ for each other, Alex. Not like this."

Alex wants to argue, but he can't. He understands all that Michael is saying, and even agrees with him. He just wishes things were different. That he had a reason to stay.

"I know."

"I'll be in touch."

"Okay." It's not okay. Alex isn't sure he'll ever be okay again.

"You take care of yourself, okay, Alex?"

Alex nods, knowing his next words will come out choked if he lets himself speak.

"Come here," Michael whispers, pulling him into a fierce hug that Alex returns just as hard. He screws his eyes up tight for the _I love you_ whispered into his ear, shuddering for the kiss pressed to the side of his head.

Alex pats him on the back asking Michael to let go of him, ducking into the car without making eye contact. He smiles without looking when Michael closes the door behind him and slaps his hand down on the roof, needing three tries to get his key in the ignition for how badly his hands are shaking. Alex drives away, trying not to watch Michael shrinking in the rearview, forcing himself to keep going until Michael is out of sight. He puts his foot down, making himself drive for another five miles before pulling to the side of the road. And before the engine is even off, Alex folds his arms over the steering wheel, finally letting himself cry.

* * *


End file.
